


The Price of Treason

by Sarnysse



Category: The Goblin Emperor - Katherine Addison
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:07:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26415397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarnysse/pseuds/Sarnysse
Summary: Naleö Clunethin—born Naleö Tethimin—is not a traitor. But nor is she pleased when the Goblin Emperor summons her to the Untheleneise Court. Will her family's treason follow her for the rest of her life?
Comments: 8
Kudos: 69





	The Price of Treason

At a young age, Naleö Clunethin had learned that life does not always proceed along the course one might expect. She was only 12 when her elder brother, Eshevis Tethimar, had attempted to assassinate Emperer Edrehasivar VII, resulting instead in his own death. Their father, having been privy to his son’s plans and conspiracies, was convicted of treason and executed, and the family Tethimada disbanded altogether.

Her sister Paru, three years Naleö’s elder, had once whispered in her ear, “If our brother and father had not committed treason, I might be empress.” She had then shaken as though with revulsion. “Not that I would want to marry that hobgoblin. Just being in his presence made me shiver.”

“Paru!” Naleö had exclaimed, shocked. “He is the emperor.” But she had believed her sister with wide-eyed credence, being tender and impressionable in the days after her father’s execution and their subsequent exile. She had never troubled to investigate the truth of Paru’s claim, and her sister had grown prickly, averse to any questions or discussion about their past.

For ten years they lived with their eldest sister and brother-in-law, Prince Orchenis. They never wanted for food or warmth; they were spared from violence, aside from a few scuffles with other children—but they learned thoroughly, nonetheless, how slowly the hint of treason died. Men flinched when they discerned the sisters’ origin.

It twisted something inside Paru; turned her bitter. No wonder that she had married as young as she might, to a craftsman who game to Amalo twice a year on trading journeys. She made her home now in Aveio, where as Min Oshanin she could live privately.

Naleö and her younger sister Erimin had found it romantic at first: Paru sneaking out to meet Mer Oshanar and declaring to their princely guardian that she could no longer live apart from her love. But as Naleö had grown, she had recognized the expediency of the match. Paru knew what she wanted and how to achieve it; in this case, distance and anonymity. The only stumbling block in her way was an audience with Emperor Edrehasivar VII before her marriage could be affirmed.

“Meddling hobgoblin,” she had hissed when the message had come from court requesting her attendance. But he had caused no further obstacle, and Paru and her husband had departed for their new home without delay.

And so it was only herself and Erimin left in Amalo, and Orchenis and Uleviän and their children, and after ten years most of the Ethuveraz had forgotten about Eshevis Tethimar and his treachery.

Emperor Edrehasivar VII, of course, had not. So it was that when Naleö’s connection with the new school came to his attention, he wished to know how she was involved. She received her own summons to appear before the emperor.

Now that she was grown, Naleö had some appreciation for how her family’s treason had colored her life, though she shied away from thinking about it directly when she could. She had never traveled far from Amalo; if someone had asked her why, she might have said it was because she had no desire to travel. In truth, she hadn’t wanted to deal with the permissions that would be necessary, or the suspicious looks that would inevitably follow.

Naleö had, she admitted to herself, for the most part remained comfortably within the cocoon her sister and brother-in-law had made for her, in which she might have been a normal young girl whose father and elder brother had died in a normal manner.

Traveling to the Untheileneise Court stripped her of those protections and therefore those illusions.

She was accorded every comfort on her voyage, but equally was she carefully watched. Did they think treason a disease that traveled from person to person? But of course, there were reasons enough for their suspicions; whatever the source of the ideas, it was true that both her father and brother had been culpable. It was not unreasonable to suppose that treason ran in families, whether through blood or otherwise.

Her brother-in-law Orchenis had not left her entirely untutored, and her friends were even more insistent that she understand the mechanisms by which the ruling class enforced their status. Knowing the purpose for the court’s massive size could not prevent its inspiring awe when her carriage halted outside.

Naleö stepped down, trying not to let any awe show on her face. Amalo was a civilized place, and she had always though it rather splendid. Nothing she had ever seen, however, matched the splendor of the Untheileneise Court.

The guards escorted her inside quickly, as though they desired that as few as possible should look upon her face. Did they think her mere presence might spark an uprising?

It had been rumored that Edrehasivar was unfit, mentally unsound, too stupid to competently rule. Nothing she had seen so far, however, had contradicted Naleö’s long-held theory: that he, like so many men at all levels of society, was simply weak, or cowardly. Perhaps he had summoned her only to make her afraid, to remind her that he held the power of life or death over her.

She was escorted to a receiving room, where men and women both spoke in hushed tones, and she was served a cup of hot tea while she waited. This unlooked-for kindness confused her, knocked her off-balance. She looked questioningly at the woman who had served it to her.

“His Serenity knows how monotonous it can be to wait here, and although he cannot rush the business of the empire, he wishes that his supplicants at least be comfortable while they wait.” The woman bestowed a smile upon her, simultaneously pitying and encouraging. Naleö took what strength she could from the hot brew.

When she had arrived, she was impatient to see the emperor; by the time an hour had passed, she had begun to dread it, and hoped that perhaps he might be too busy to see her today. Perhaps she would be shown to a comfortable room where she could be alone, and she would have time to recover before the morning—

“Osmin Tethimin, the emperor will see you now,” came a mild voice from the front of the room. Naleö nearly spilled her lukewarm tea. She stood, her hands shaking, uncertain what to do with the cup. After a long moment that seemed it would stretch on forever, someone whiskped the cup out of her hands and she had nothing to do with them, nothing to hold. Her throat dry, she moved forward.

“Osmin Tethimin?” the clerk asked, eyeing her doubtfully.

“Yes,” she said, hoarsely.

“You may enter.” The doors in front of her swung open, and with a deep breath, she stepped through them. Across the room, bedecked in white, sat Edrehasivar.

Naleö stumbled forward and sank to her knees in front of the berobed figure, all her thoughts of rebelliously arguing down the emperor washed from her mind. He had been called the Goblin Emperor, and true enough it was: he resembled his barbarian mother far more than any of the line of emperors that preceded him. Knowing it was one thing; confronting it quite another.

Amalo was far enough from the Untheileneise Court that the mixing of elvish and goblin blood was not as accepted as it was in the court—though truth be told, it was still frowned-upon by many there as well, despite the existence of their mixed-blood emperor—and Naleö was startled by Edrehasivar’s dark skin, which looked out of place amidst the imperial white of his robes. His hands, ears, and neck were heavy with jewelry. For a moment she had a fancy that he was like a villain in a child’s wonder-tale, disguised as the emperor to fool her into coming close enough for him to eat her. Naleö swallowed hard.

“Osmin Tethimin, you may approach us.”

The emperor’s voice echoed in the chamber, far larger than any in Orchenis’s palace. Though she had always sympathized with the petitioners who came to her brother prince’s audiences, she realized that she had previously understood only a tenth part of it at best.

Her compatriots sometimes spoke of the Goblin Emperor dismissively, as an obstacle, a joke, a target of disdain. Naleö had joined in their conversations willingly, despite her knowledge that he had been merciful to herself and her sisters. She thought of him betimes as a pitiful figure. She could never again think of him but as the emperor, looming above her. Power sat on him as easily as the enormous crown he wore. Gone was the gawky youth Paru had spoken of; this was the _emperor_.

“Serenity, we are—” Naleö gulped, hoping to smooth out the croaking of her voice. “We are honored that you summoned us.”

“Osmin Tethimin, it is in our mind that we have never before had the pleasure of making your acquaintance, as we sent you from the court to your brother-in-law when you were little more than a child.”

Naleö took a deep breath. “Serenity, you are correct. And if we may take the liberty—we adopted our brother-in-law’s name when he took us in.”

She thought that Edrehasivar looked at her more sharply when she said this, but he merely nodded and said, “Of course, Osmin Clunethin.”

There was silence, and after a moment Naleö found the courage to look up and meet the emperor’s eyes. Edrehasivar was studying her carefully. He seemed in no hurry to make clear the purpose of this audience.

Despite her nerves, or perhaps because of them, Naleö started to itch with impatience after a few minutes of this. “May we ask—what is your pleasure, Serenity?”

“Osmin Clunethin, it has come to our attention that you are involved with a… project that is of interest to us.”

“What project is that, Serenity?” Naleö asked, though she knew perfectly well. Under the emperor’s scrutiny, she suspected her face had turned pink, but she kept her composure, otherwise.

“A school,” Edrehasivar said, the words falling flat between them, as though a declaration of battle.

“Do you oppose education, Serenity?” Naleö asked sweetly, knowing it would provoke him. His frown deepened, and one of the attendants who stood to his side half-stood. The emperor glanced his way and waved at him, and the attendant fell back.

“This school,” the emperor continued, seemingly unfazed, “it is intended for the education of young women, is that correct? Specifically, in principles of mathematics and engineering?”

“Yes, Serenity,” Naleö answered proudly, swallowing any further response.

“We have nothing against those pursuits, but perhaps it would be more useful for young women to study more practical pursuits—those which will help them marry well, and make good wives and mothers.”

Naleö bristled. “Perhaps,” she said, her voice tight, “some young women have interests other than getting married.”

“Perhaps,” he echoed, studying her. “You are acquainted with some of the women who call themselves founders of this school, are you not?”

“We are, of course, Serenity.”

Some of the things Naleö said were intended to provoke the emperor. Others seemed to offend his attendants despite Naleö’s innocence, and this was one such. Was one not supposed to say “of course” to an emperor? Edrehasivar seemed unmoved, despite the murmurs and rustlings coming from one side of him.

Naleö dared a glance to the group. His nohecharei were there, naturally. A youth Naleö did not recognize, but knew from the richness of his clothing that he must be the emperor’s heir, his nephew Idra. It was assumed that one day Edrehasivar would choose one of his young children as his heir—but in the meantime, Idra retained the designation. And another man, carrying a stack of papers, whom Naleö guessed to be a secretary.

Edrehasivar leaned forward. Instinctively, Naleö took a step back, though there was nothing explicitly threatening in his mien.

“Osmin Clunethin, we think we need not explain to you, of all people, why it is imperative that we maintain an awareness of those of our subjects who not only disagree with our policies, but with our existence as emperor.”

Naleö flushed, and knew that the color would be readily visible against her pale skin. The emperor’s dart was well-aimed.

“We understand,” Naleö muttered, almost sullenly. The secretary’s ears flattened, though Edrehasivar himself still seemed unmoved. She was well-trained enough in court manners to know she was being unforgivably rude, so she continued in a voice pitched to carry throughout the room. “It is true that some of our acquaintance have spoken critically of Your Serenity.” She braced herself for him to ask whether she herself was among them, but he surprised her.

In a cool, firm tone, the emperor asked, “Have any of them called for my death or my deposement?”

For a moment, Naleö was too shocked to speak. “No, Your Serenity. They—we—have been critical, perhaps even…” She bit her tongue, unable to think of an ending to that sentence that would not horribly offend the emperor. Instead, she forged ahead. “Your Serenity, we have not—we would not—we are not _traitors_!” she exclaimed. “We understand the difference between criticism and treason, and we would never cross that line, despite—”

“Despite?” the emperor repeated gently. Naleö looked at the floor. “Osmin Clunethin, we exiled you and your sisters—a gentle exile, we hope, but exile nonetheless—and was responsible for the deaths of your father and your brother. Do you bear us a grudge for our treatment of your family?”

She had not expected such a forthright question, and judging by the rustling to the emperor’s side, neither had his attendants.

“Your Serenity, it would be unjust to the extreme for us to bear any grudge towards you. Your serene word is law; and in any case, our father and brother plotted to murder and overthrow not one but two emperors. They deserved their punishment, and Your Serenity was most clement in your treatment of us and our sisters.” The words felt hollow. They were true, and yet…

“We did not ask,” Edrehasivar said even more gently still, “whether it would be unjust for you to bear any grudge against us. We asked whether you _do_.”

A chill invaded every part of Naleö’s body. She could tell the truth, and face whatever punishment the emperor imagined for her; or she could lie, and risk punishment for lying, if he was able to discern it. Every option seemed a bad one. She did not speak for long enough that she could hear mutters from the others in the room. Edrehasivar, however, neither spoke nor attended to the others. He watched Naleö closely, though not, she thought, maliciously.

And it was preferable, she decided, to be punished for the truth than for a lie. “Yes,” she said, barely above a whisper. “Yes, Your Serenity, we blame you for our family’s ruin.” The mutters grew louder, and Naleö bowed her head, unable to look at the emperor any longer. “It is not just of us. But were it not for Your Serenity, we might still be at court, and living with our father and brother. For all their flaws, we loved them.”

The room was deathly silent. Naleö considered whether these might be the last words she spoke—whether she was soon to join her father, executed for his plotting against this same emperor. It would be, she supposed, in some wise appropriate.

But when he spoke again, the emperor’s voice was still mild, and his attention, somehow, seemed to have been redirected. “Osmin Clunethin, what is it about this school that attracts you? Your brother-in-law is still living, and he would, no doubt, support whatever you wish to do—provide a dowry—”

Perhaps the emperor was merely drawing out her misery before pronouncing her sentence. Given what she had already said, Naleö saw no reason to mince words now. She raised her head again and met the emperor’s gaze.

“Your Serenity, we are a young woman who was raised in a wealthy—if disgraced—family. Prince Orchenis might indeed provide a dowry, but how many respectable men would wish to marry a woman of the Tethimada? Our elder sister found one—how many more? And if not marriage, what other options did we have?” The emperor said nothing, but continued watching her patiently. Boldly, Naleö continued. “And if we had so few options—we, who have been raised in relative comfort—how many fewer do poor girls have? A school might give them so many more options. We thought it a worthy cause.”

The emperor remained silent for long enough that his secretary began to fidget. Naleö wondered what other, more important, assignations the emperor was delaying by speaking to impertinent, unimportant her.

“Osmin Clunethin, it may surprise you to know that we support this school, and others like it—in theory. But we have misgivings about some of its advocates, who call for hasty and violent change. Surely, there is a way to advance women’s education, and provide women with necessary resources, without resorting to such extreme measures as we have heard tell of.”

“Serenity, it is easy to say that we should not be hasty, but for many women the changes happen too slowly to be of any use. How many women are their of Your Serenity’s age, or older, who live inconsequential—or wretched—lives, because their options were to marry and bear children or to refrain from any action at all?”

To her shock, Naleö thought the emperor smiled slightly. It could have been a trick of the light, but she could have sworn…

“We thank you, Osmin Clunethin, for speaking to us. We will take your remarks under advisement.” Edrehasivar turned to his secretary and spoke, too softly for Naleö to understand. She realized she had been dismissed, but it was so sudden, and so unexpected, that for a moment she stood in front of the throne, stock-still, unable to move. A hand at her arm gently guided her through the same door she had entered. A goblin-dark attendant bid her wait there a few moments, and Naleö sank to the floor, breathing deeply.

“The emperor once would have looked much the same, after an audience.” It was a woman’s voice, deep and amused. Naleö sprang to her feet and turned to see a woman of near middle years, dressed plainly but finely. She was tall of stature and rigid of posture, her features and skin tone those of a well-bred elvish lady, but her eyes twinkled with humor.

“Our apologies, Osmerrem—” She did not know this lady’s name, but guessed at her title based on her age and obvious wealth.

“You are Osmin Tethimin, are you not?” the lady asked speculatively. Naleö winced.

“We are Naleö Clunethin,” she responded, as firmly as she could under the circumstances. “Our brother-in-law Prince Orchenis has been gracious enough to allow us to take his family name.”

“Ah, yes,” the woman murmured, and Naleö had the sudden suspicion that she was being tested. “We have heard your name, from some of our… friends. We admire the work you do, and we believe Edrehasivar will come to agreed with us.” _Us_ plural, not formal. As though Naleö and this lady were involved in the same work.

“Dach’osmin Drazhin, the emperor will see you now,” the emperor’s secretary called from the open door. Naleö watched in open-mouthed amazement as the woman made a quick bow in her direction and then glided into the receiving room Naleö herself had exited only a few moments ago.

Vedero Drazhin. Edrehasivar’s half-sister, and one of the advocates for the school Naleö and her friends hoped to build.

An attendant came to lead her away from the Alcethmeret. Naleö barely noticed the hallways they passed through, her spirits lifted by her thoughts and her mind many miles away.

Between them, perhaps Edrehasivar VII and his half-sister could truly effect change. Both, it was certain, had overcome the legacy of their father’s and their grandfather’s cruelty. If that was true, perhaps Naleö, too, could overcome the legacy her brother and father had left for her. Her future was her own to create.


End file.
